


The Devil You Know

by AndreaChristoph



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: AU, Christmas, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Rival Professors, tropey goodness, work nemesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaChristoph/pseuds/AndreaChristoph
Summary: AU.  Dr. Lucy Preston is sick of all the invasive questions she gets at her parents' yearly Christmas dinner party.  As much as she can't stand her work nemesis, Dr. Garcia Flynn, she spots an opportunity when she finds out he has no Christmas plans.  What better way to avoid questions about your love life (or lack thereof) than to pretend you have one?(Fake-dating rival professor Christmas AU.  Fluff ahoy.)





	The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Garcy fam, have some tropey AU goodness. I don't often write AU stuff so this is a bit of an anomaly for me. It was initially going to be even longer but I decided to scale it back a bit.

“I’m sorry mom, I might have to work.”

_ “The university closes over the holidays, Lucy - I ran the department for a decade, I know how these things work.” _

“Not teaching, just...working on my first draft edits, catching up on grading-”

_ “Lucy.  Absolutely not.  You will come to dinner, and that’s final.” _

Lucy sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.  She is, of course, completely bullshitting, as her real plan for Christmas is a pitcher of eggnog and some TV binge-watching, but unfortunately her mother is seeing right through it.  It isn’t that she doesn’t enjoy Christmas dinner - the food is always great, enough free booze for everyone to need cabs by the end of the night, and her parents are fantastic hosts. The part she isn’t as much of a fan of is the questions.

“So, Lucy, are you seeing anyone?”

“How long until you give your parents a grandbaby?”

“Are you gay?”

The last one she’d gotten the year previous, and she’d nearly spit her drink in Aunt Edith’s face when she heard it.  Her aunt wasn’t known for having much of a filter (or any filter at all, really), but the leap of logic was impressive, to say the least.  Okay, so she’d never brought anyone to family dinner, that much was true. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. She’d had a steady stream of dates over the past year, absolutely none of them panning out.  Most of the men she showed even vague interest in ended up being a massive disappointment in the end - couldn’t keep up with her intellectually, or felt threatened by her position at Stanford, or just plain didn’t get her jokes.  So she’d tried to date other history professors exclusively for a period of time, but that turned out even worse, as most were just interested in correcting her any chance they got. And she was getting really,  _ really _ sick of hearing ‘Well, actually…”

She’d hoped to avoid dinner this year entirely, but leave it to her mother to anticipate all her excuses.  And her mother wasn’t much better than her extended family when it came to the invasive questions around Lucy’s love life.  If anything, her mother was even worse, as she also loved to try and set Lucy up with anyone eligible she happened to meet anywhere.  Just last month she’d set her up with a guy she met in a lineup at the bookstore. The guy had been buying one of her mother’s books, so it wasn’t particularly shocking she’d jump at the chance to matchmake.  It was only once she was roped into an awkward dinner with him that Lucy found out he was a staunch Republican, and she had to spend two hours listening to his views on illegal immigration. Her mother’s screening process had always been a bit lacking.

“Fine, mom, I will...make time to attend dinner.  For a bit.”

_ “That’s better.  And don’t hesitate to bring a friend with you.” _

“Let me guess - a male friend?”

_ “Well, that would be ideal.”   _ Her mother laughs on the other end of the line.   _ “Honestly sweetheart, you can bring anyone. I'd just like to see you smile for once.” _

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Alright, mom. See you then.” Hanging up her cell, she slips it back into her pocket and picks up her coffee cup from the counter, and she's mid-sip when she catches sight of him over the rim.  She quickly swallows and sets the mug down, then gathers her folders into her arms and rushes toward the teacher’s lounge door as quickly as she can without making it obvious that she’s fleeing.

“Dr. Preston!”

No dice

She’s nearly at the door when he calls her name, and she pauses, sighing, before plastering a civil smile on her face and turning back to him.  “Good morning, Dr. Flynn.”

Her most recent date in the string of bad dates had happened to be the very man now striding toward her with a grin on his face.  Or, technically, it would have been, if they’d made it that far. Instead, Garcia Flynn had asked her out for a drink, and then hours later humiliated her at journal club with a classic, “Well, actually…”  And then he’d had the gall right afterward to approach her for that drink. Her eye roll and lack of response had sent a pretty clear message, she thought. If not, avoiding him in the weeks since then should have done the trick.  Either he was bad at taking a hint, or he was more stubborn than her.

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Preston.”  He’d almost be handsome with that bright grin creasing the laugh lines around his eyes if she wasn’t fully aware of what a dick he was.

“You too.”  

She tries to turn and leave again, but before she can he quickly adds, “Have any plans for the holidays?”

“Dinner,” she says as she turns back.  “Parents. The usual.”

“Sounds nice,” he says, and there’s a pause where a normal human would then ask  _ And you? _  Unfortunately for him, Lucy doesn’t give a damn how he’s spending his holidays, who he’s spending them with, or anything else involving him, either.  She gives him a tight-lipped smile, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something more, which he doesn’t.

“If we’re finished, Dr. Flynn, I have a class to get to.”

“Of course, sorry, don’t let me keep you.”  He steps around her and reaches for the door, holding it open for her.  Lucy gives him one more thin smile and leaves.

She finishes her final class for the day at 5:00 PM on the dot, and chooses to stay in the lecture hall while she grades papers, savoring the silence and soft lighting of her desk lamp in the dark room.  She’s wrapped up in a particularly interesting paper when the door opens quietly, and she looks up, still chewing the end of her pen, and squints through her glasses to see Flynn standing in the doorway.

“The light was on.”  When she says nothing, he steps inside, taking her silence as a tacit invitation.  It boggles her mind a bit, how little he seems able to read her signals (or lack thereof).  “What are you still doing here? It’s getting late.”

She sits back in her chair, sighing, and sets her glasses on the desk.  “I could ask you the same question, Dr. Flynn.”

He meanders toward her with his hands in his pockets, comes to stop just behind her so he can peek over her shoulder at the papers on the desk.

“Culper Ring, huh?  One of my favorite units.  As soon as they hear the word ‘spy’ they’re all suddenly model students.”

She smiles - this one genuine - and slides her chair back so she can face him.  “I thought your teaching focus was the Cold War.”

“It is now.  I did a few years around the Revolutionary War, back when I was a grad student.”

Before either of them can say anything further, Lucy’s phone vibrates on the desk.  She lifts it and reads the text on the screen quickly, rolls her eyes and sighs. Flynn raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smile on his face.  “Everything okay?”

Lucy nods.  “Yeah, just...my mother.  Reminding me what to wear to dinner.  And what to bring.” A pause. “And who to bring.”

“Who?” he repeats, curious, both looking and sounding amused, which kills any goodwill she may have been feeling toward him.

“She’s insisting I bring a friend this year.  She’s been ‘helpfully’ making suggestions on who that could be.  Never mind the fact that all of them are either spending time with their own families or aren’t on speaking terms with me anymore.”  The latest suggestion was a real doozy, as her mother was now pitching ex-boyfriends whose families she knew lived out of state. Ex-boyfriends.  She’d really hit a new low if her mother was dipping into that pool of candidates.

“Sounds like an interesting woman.”

“Oh, she’s a treat,” Lucy says, voice dripping with sarcasm.  She loves her mother, she truly does. She just can’t stand her sometimes.  Or most of the time. It helps when her father is around to buffer, but texting directly with her mother doesn’t afford her that luxury.  She rubs her eyes in exasperation. “I wonder if I can convince Jonas to come with me.”

“Jonas?  As in, Jonas Hughes, head of the department?”

“We, uh...had coffee once.  Didn’t go anywhere. But he’s one of the few I’m still on good terms with.”

“Seems like you get around a bit, Dr. Preston.”

Lucy lets her hand drop and fixes him with a glare.  “Excuse me?”

Flynn blanches, stammering as he says, “That came out wrong, I didn’t mean-”

“Oh no, Dr. Flynn, please go on about how I  _ get around _ .”  She stands abruptly and starts angrily shoving her things into her briefcase as she speaks.  “I didn’t realize how scandalous it was for a woman in her mid-thirties to be actively dating.”

“Lucy-”

“No, no, it’s fine.  If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to head home and die alone.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shoving past him with her briefcase held tightly in her right hand, her knuckles turning white around the handle as she channels all of her anger into her grip so she can resist clawing Flynn’s eyes out instead.  He’s still stammering behind her as she whips the door open, and she doesn’t glance back as she slams it behind her.

The rest of the week goes by fairly quickly and uneventfully.  She successfully dodges Flynn in the hallway a few times, and he’s conspicuously absent from the lounge for much of the week, which allows her a few blessed minutes each morning to sip her coffee and chat with fellow faculty that she actually gets along with.  She’s in the lounge going over lesson plans for the new year with her TA Jiya when he finally shows his face again. She stops mid-sentence when she spots him, and they briefly meet eyes, hers narrowing and his immediately averting. He makes a coffee faster than she thought humanly possible, and then just as quickly disappears back out the door.

“Poor Dr. Flynn,” Jiya says as she looks up just in time to see him duck out.  Lucy snorts, and Jiya glances at her with a raised eyebrow. “What’s  _ that _ reaction about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You might think your utter disdain for him is subtle, but it’s really not.”  Jiya nudges her good-naturedly. “Come on, spill.”

“You first.”  Lucy doesn’t look up from the note she’s writing.  “Why ‘poor Dr. Flynn’?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret the guy is spending the holidays alone.”

That gets Lucy’s attention.  She looks at Jiya. “What? Really?”

“Just what I’ve heard.”  Jiya shrugs and goes back to writing.

The final day of classes goes fast.  She’s just barely finished grading the last paper in her endless stack of them when her phone vibrates.  Again. She lifts it and swipes to open the message, reading as she packs her things up.

_ I met this really cute doctor today when I was getting coffee.  He’s a pediatrician (great with kids, just saying). Got his number.  If you don’t have anyone to bring yet, give him a call. Already gave him a bit of a wink-nudge about dinner.  See you tonight! Wear something red, you always look great in red. xoxo _

She shoves the phone into her bag as she heads for the exit, closes her eyes briefly and sighs as she pushes the door open.  Great. Now she’d get to enjoy not only 20 questions from relatives she sees once a year, but she’d also have to spend the evening awkwardly standing near yet another shitty blind date, courtesy of her mother.

“Ow!”

Her eyes fly open just in time to see Flynn stumble back, hand to his nose, and she can feel the vibrations in the door from the force of the collision.  “Oh my god!” She drops her briefcase and rushes forward, puts a hand to his arm. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” Flynn lowers his hand and she sees two small lines of blood run down over his lip.  “Shit, shit, shit.” She rushes back to her briefcase and rummages quickly to find a small pack of tissues, and nearly drops half of them as she pulls them out of the package rapidly and presses them to his nose.  He’s quick to take over for her, easing his hand under hers to grip the tissues.

“Ah, Lucy, I can handle that myself.”

“Of course. Sorry, sorry.”  Her face is burning, she’s probably an unhealthy shade of red, and she desperately wishes the ground would open up and swallow her.  Any minute now. Please. 

“It’s okay, Lucy.”  His tone is light, and she thinks she might hear the hint of a laugh in his voice.  She chances a look at him, and those familiar laugh lines are showing. “I’ll be fine.  Just a nosebleed.”

“God, I’m so sorry, Garcia.  I didn’t see you.”

“That may have been due to your closed eyes.”

Come on ground.  Where’s a spontaneous sinkhole when you need one?

“Sorry,” she murmurs one more time, stepping away to retrieve her briefcase from the ground.  She moves to go, hoping to track down the nearest hole to go die in, when Flynn reaches out to grab her arm and stop her.  

“Woah, hey, why are you running off?”

“I- uh…”  She’s blanking.  Oh god, why is she blanking?

“Why are you here so late?  Didn’t you have your dinner tonight?”

His voice is nasal as he pinches his nose, but he seems otherwise unscathed, and so she finally begins to calm down.  “Yeah, I...I was just heading home to get ready. What are you still doing here?” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not following me, are you?”  

Is she flirting?  Oh god, she’s flirting.  Apparently this is her response to utter humiliation.  Bat your eyes, flash a smile, and distract them from what a mess you are.

He looks amused.  “I taught a class in here this morning.  Forgot my coat.”

Of course he did.  Of  _ course _ .

“Well, I’ll just, um...let you get to that then.”  Her phone starts vibrating from inside her bag as Flynn eases around her to go into the classroom, and she pulls it out to see what her mother’s latest input would be.

_ I went ahead and invited cute doc b/c you weren’t getting back to me.  You’ll love him. Don’t forget - red! xoxo _

She doesn’t look up from her phone as she turns.  “Hey, Garcia?”

He’s on his way back out of the lecture hall with his coat in hand when she speaks, and he stops.  “Yeah?”

“What are your plans for tonight?”

His brow knits in confusion.  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “The usual.  Read. Grade some papers. Maybe have a drink.”

Couldn’t be more of a bachelor if he tried.  At least that would make this next part a bit less scary.

“How would you like a free dinner?”

He tilts his head, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “Are you...asking me out?”

Her eyes bug out of her head.  “Oh, woah, no, no.” She laughs nervously.  “It’s, um. A bit embarrassing.”

He waits patiently for her to continue, confused.

“It seems my mother has taken it upon herself to...set me up.  For Christmas dinner.”

Immediately he’s smiling again.  “So where do I come in?”

“Ever heard the phrase ‘better the devil you know’?”  She shrugs. “At least with you, I know what I’m getting into, and in exchange for running interference between me and my relatives' invasive questions about my love life, you get all the alcohol you can handle and a delicious home-cooked meal.”

“Well, you certainly sold that one well.  So what you’re saying is that you need a boyfriend for a night.”  His wry smirk reminds her exactly why she can’t stand him.

And yet, there she was.  Hoping he’ll say yes, and dying a little inside because of it.

“Sure.  Sounds more entertaining than an evening of reading.”

She looks up at him, smiling.  “Really?”

He’s grinning widely.  “What should I wear?”

* * *

She goes through several outfit changes over the next hour, trying every article of red clothing she owns in an attempt to find an ensemble that toes the line between sexy and sophisticated.  She’s not sure why she’s aiming for sexy at all, considering it’s going to be a house full of her relatives and whatever guy her mother rustled up. Possibly a few of her mother’s former colleagues.

And Flynn.

But he’s the last person she’d be aiming to appeal to.  It’s bad enough she has to spend the next few hours pretending to like him.

She eventually settles on a red wrap-around dress, adding a sheer black cardigan just to stave off the more religious contingent of her relatives.  God forbid her bare arms show in the presence of eligible suitors. She’s putting the final pins into an updo when the doorbell rings. “Coming!” she yells from the bathroom.  She tugs two strands of hair loose to frame her face, quickly applies her lipstick, then heads to answer the door.

7:00 PM on the dot.  And there is Garcia Flynn, on her doorstep, dressed in a fitted peacoat that he has no business looking that attractive in.

He is also holding flowers.

“Oh, um...thank you.”  She takes the flowers, her face uncomfortably warm, and heads toward the kitchen to find a vase.  “Come in, I’ll just be another second.”

“Nice place you have here,” he calls from the foyer as he shuts the door behind him.

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all.  To the contrary.”

“Oh?”  She leans into the kitchen doorway.  “I’m going to chug a glass of liquid courage.  Care to join?”

He smiles, shakes his head.  “Best not. Haven’t eaten and need to drive.”

“Suit yourself.”  She pours a small glass of wine, no more than a quarter of the glass, and downs it in one go, savoring the burn at the back of her throat.  She turns to put the glass in the sink and sees Flynn standing in the doorway watching her, again smirking. 

“What am I getting myself into with this dinner?” he asks, retrieving her jacket from the back of one of the kitchen table chairs and holding it up for her to slip into.  Her face is burning again, and it doesn’t help that he’s looking at her funny, so she’s thankful for the excuse to turn away. She slips into the jacket and busies herself buttoning it, and feels Flynn’s hands smooth over the shoulders briefly.

“Ready to hit the trenches?”

“You have no idea how accurate that comparison is.”

She straps herself into her heels and locks the door behind them, and they head down the front walkway toward his car, a black Mercedes coupe that an untenured professor has no business owning.  Her hand is out to open the door when he quickly dashes forward and pulls it open for her, and he extends a hand to help her in. It’s a degree of gallantry she’s not quite used to, not to mention wholly unexpected from the likes of Flynn.

They spend the drive discussing the various quirks of Lucy’s family members and how to tackle potential questions while keeping their stories straight.  Flynn is surprisingly on the ball as she quizzes him on responses.

“How long have we been dating?”

“Six months.”

“Correct.  Where did we meet?”

“Conference in LA.”

“Good.  What are my parents’ names?”

“Carol and Henry.”

Lucy nods approvingly.  “So far so good. We may actually pull this off.”  She sits back in her seat and looks out the window at the Christmas lights going by, feeling much more calm about the whole thing now that she knows Flynn is paying attention.

“What about me?”

She looks back at him, confused.  “What about you?”

“Shouldn’t you know a bit about me as well?”

“Oh.  Well, uh...they won’t know if I’m bullshitting anyway.”

“Still.  Better safe than sorry.”

She shrugs and nods.  “Alright, give me the cliff notes on Garcia Flynn.”  

The remainder of the drive is spent learning a bit about Flynn’s background, which she hates to admit she finds intriguing.  He’d done most of his schooling in Zagreb, only after completing his compulsory military service, and has a dual US-EU citizenship thanks to a Croatian father and American mother.  He’d done a few guest lectures around the US while job hunting, including most of the Ivy league schools, and Stanford had been quick to extend an offer.

She also learns he prefers red wine to white, he loves classical music but has a soft spot for Sinatra, and he collects journals but can never decide what exactly he wants to write in them.  It’s an odd degree of overlap with Lucy’s own quirks and preferences, which she doesn’t feel inclined to share with him.

“My wife...well, ex-wife...used to donate half of them once a year when I was away teaching out of town, and give a few to my daughter to use for drawing.”

Lucy looks at him, surprised.  “You have a daughter? I thought-”

“-that I had no family to spend the holidays with?” he finishes, and she looks away quickly.  “Rumors get around. In this case, it’s accurate. Lorena got primary custody of Iris, remarried relatively quick, then packed them up and rushed off to London.  I get Iris every second Christmas, though I generally leave it up to her whether she actually wants to fly over or not.”

“Don’t you miss her?”

He smiles sadly.  “Every day. But there are no job prospects in London at the moment, and Lorena’s husband is a foreign diplomat, so they often end up moving every few years.  It’d be just my luck that I’d follow them just as they jump ship for another city, and I’d be constantly rebuilding while playing catch up with them. No point.”

“What about your parents?”

“My father passed a few years ago.  My mother is a few hours from here, in an assisted living facility.  Has stage 3 alzheimers. My brother Gabriel lives close to her but he’s with the NSA and works most holidays.”

“Oh,” is all she replies, feeling a stab of sympathy for him.  “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, smiling at her without taking his eyes off the road.  “Nothing to be sorry for. I’ve carved out a nice life here in California.  The climate reminds me of Croatia, but the wages and job prospects are much better.”

They pull up in front of her mother’s house and can see the dinner party is already in full swing, with various family members and guests standing by the front window holding glasses of champagne and laughing.  She takes a deep, steadying breath, and reaches for the door handle, but Flynn is quick to dash around the car and once again open the door for her. Again he offers a hand as she gets out, which she takes gratefully.  As they make their way toward the front door he also offers her an arm, which she also takes. Chivalry clearly isn’t totally dead. Is this what she’d missed out on, skipping that drink with him?

She knocks on the front door and they wait in silence, and it’s then she notices the bottle of wine in Flynn’s other hand.  “You come prepared, huh? Didn’t I tell you the alcohol would be free flowing?”

“It’s rude not to bring a gift for the hosts.”

She smiles and looks back at the door.  This is not what she expected from the same man who embarrassed her at journal club in front of her colleagues.  She’s beginning to wonder if she’s had him pegged wrong this whole time.

They hear the sound of the deadbolt turning and chain lock sliding, and she quickly leans in to whisper, “I apologize in advance for this whole evening.”

“Go team,” he whispers back, winking at her as the door opens to reveal her mother.

“Lucy!  You’re finally here!”  Her mother dives in for a hug, deftly maneuvering her full glass of wine so she doesn’t spill it all over her daughter.  She steps back and looks her up and down, nodding in approval. “Love your dress sweetheart. Told you red looks great on you.”

“Right as always, mom.”

Her mother just then notices the man at her side, and she turns her appraising look to Flynn instead.  “And who is this?”

“Oh, sorry.  Mom, this is Garcia Flynn.  Garcia, this is my mother, Carolyn Preston.”

“Call me Carol.”  She extends a hand to shake, intrigued by this newcomer.  Flynn shakes her hand firmly, a warm smile on his face, and offers his gift of wine.  “You shouldn’t have, didn’t Lucy tell you drinks were provided? Thank you though. Come in, come in.”  She waves them in, closing the door behind them. “Can I take your coats?”

“I’ve got it, mom.  Going in the guest bedroom as usual?”

“You certainly know the drill by now, don’t you?”  Her mother turns her attention back to Flynn. “Red or white?”

“Red, please.  Malbec if you have it.”

“Good taste.  Cab-sav for you, Lucy?”

“Actually, I’ll have whatever he’s having.”  She slips her coat off and gestures for Flynn to hand her his.  He quickly unbuttons his peacoat and drapes it on her arm, and she stands there for a moment, staring.  He’s wearing a light grey dress shirt, fitted in all the right places, and has his cufflinks matched to his belt.  Combined with his fastidiously combed back hair, he looks...well, there’s no better word for it. He looks sexy as hell.

He’s giving her a look, noticing her staring, and she blushes yet again and rushes up the stairs away from him as her mother calls for him to follow her to the kitchen.  She’s able to regroup in the upstairs bathroom, reapplying her red lipstick for good measure, before joining the crowd downstairs. She finds Flynn standing next to her father, both of them grinning as they discuss something, and as she draws near Flynn quickly hands her a glass of wine, slipping his arm around her waist once she takes it.

“Lucy, you didn’t tell us you were seeing anyone,” her father says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

“It’s, ah...a bit new.”

“Six months is new?  Dear lord, you kids draw things out nowadays.  Your mother and I were already married by this point.”

Lucy shrugs, smiling.  “Just taking our time, enjoying the ride.”  Her eyes go wide as she hears her own words.  “I mean, uh-”

Both her father and Flynn laugh, and she hides behind her glass of wine, taking a large gulp.  “Excuse me, I think I heard mom calling me.” She deftly untangles herself from Flynn’s arm and heads toward her mother, who grins and leans in as Lucy comes close.

“Sweetheart, you never said you were bringing someone.”

“It was sort of a last minute invite, wasn’t sure if he would be free or not.”

“You should have told me, I wouldn’t have invited that cute doctor.  Will you at least go chat with him, so he doesn’t feel like I wasted his time?”

Lucy smiles wearily.  “Sure. Where is he?”

“Over there.”  She nods toward a man about Lucy’s age standing next to the living room fireplace, sipping a whiskey and chatting with a few of her cousins and some people she doesn’t recognize that are no doubt her mother’s former co-workers who also retired early.  

“And his name?”

“Noah Morello.”  Before she leaves, her mother grabs her arm gently.  “By the way, what’s the story with you and tall-dark-and-handsome over there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how long has that been going on?”

“Just a few months.”

“How many is a few?”

“...six?”

“Dear Lord, Lucy, why wouldn’t you tell me?!  Six months is more than a few.”

“Just been busy, I guess,” she mumbles, slipping her arm out of her mother’s grip and smiling as she heads toward her mother’s ill-fated attempt at matchmaking.  “Noah? Hi, I’m Lucy, Carol’s daughter.”

He takes her offered hand and shakes it, grinning widely.  Lucy has to admit, for once her mother wasn’t totally off the mark.  The guy is incredibly easy on the eyes and has a laid-back air about him, and as they get to chatting she discovers they have a fair bit in common.  They’re busy discussing a book they’d both read recently when she feels someone looming over her shoulder, and she jumps as she feels a hand rest against her lower back, her head turning quickly to see Flynn at her side.  Noah turns to him, looking a bit put off.

“Sorry; Noah, this is Garcia Flynn.  Garcia, Noah Morello.”

Flynn extends his hand to shake, his other hand drawing Lucy closer to his side.  “Good to meet you.”

“You too.”  Noah looks between the two of them, noting the hand resting on Lucy’s opposite hip.  “I didn’t realize you were...here with someone…”

Her face is burning, and part of her wishes Flynn would disappear for a bit.  “We, ah, work together.”

“I can see that,” Noah replies, looking pointedly at the arm around her waist.  Not sure how to explain it, she laughs weakly in response.

“I came to see if you needed another drink,” Flynn murmurs, leaning close.  She can feel his warm breath on her cheek as he speaks, and shivers, entirely involuntarily.

“Oh, uh, sure.”  She hands him her glass and he nods at Noah before heading back to the kitchen.

“Nice guy,” Noah says, with only a hint of sarcasm.  “So you, uh, work together…?”

“Stanford.  I teach early American history, mostly around the Revolutionary War, while he covers mid-20th-century conflicts, Cold War and whatnot.”

“And you’re…together?”

She swallows.  Her full intent up to this moment had been to lie through her teeth to anyone who asked, but she’s finding herself regretting that decision now that she’s actually met her blind date.  “Well, uh-”

Before she can respond, her mother clinks a knife gently against her glass, and all eyes turn to her.  “Dinner is in five, if everyone could take their seats. There are place cards with your names on them.”

Lucy tracks her place card down near the head of the table as usual.  She glances at the one next to her and sees Noah’s name. Just as he meets her eyes, smiles, and reaches to pull the chair out, Flynn quickly steps forward, sliding a spare chair in between them.  “Your mother didn’t account for the extra body,” he explains to Lucy, completely ignoring Noah as he stands with his back turned to him. “Luckily there were some chairs left over.”

She forces a smile.  “Great. Wonderful.”

He tilts his head slightly, confused by her terse tone, and pulls her chair out for her.  Her smile warms slightly and she takes her seat. Her father takes his place at the head of the table and starts his traditional Christmas toast.  There’s a flurry of activity as the caterers start delivering plates (her parents had never been much for getting their hands dirty in the kitchen) while the guests fall into small discussions with those seated near them, and Lucy leans toward Flynn.

“How’s it going?  Had any issues with our story?” she murmurs, sipping from her glass of water.

“Not so far.  Your aunt, I think, seemed shocked to hear you had a boyfriend,” Flynn whispers back, leaning away briefly as one of the catering staff cuts between them to set a plate in front of him.  

“Yeah.  She thinks I’m gay.”

Flynn chokes mid-sip of his wine and coughs lightly, Lucy quickly patting his back gently and giving her various relatives an apologetic look.

Much of dinner is similar to their drive over, with Lucy and Flynn quietly trading stories about their families and past Christmases.  Before long Lucy finds herself forgetting Noah is even there on the other side of Flynn. She’s laughing at a story about Flynn’s daughter and the nightmare that was her fourth Christmas when Lucy happens to glance at her mother, and sees a look on her face that she can’t quite read.  Carol wasn’t exactly a bastion of maternal warmth most of the time (her standards are far too high for her to do much more than criticize and coach on most things), but she seems to be downright glowing as she watches her daughter chatting away with her date.

Once dinner is finished and plates have been cleared, the guests disperse throughout the house once more for tea and coffee.  Her father has cornered Flynn again, chatting about World War II if she’s overheard correctly (a family of history nerds, the whole lot of them), and she’s about to join them when her mother appears next to her in the kitchen.

“I like him.”

“Who?”

Carol nods at Flynn, and Lucy looks taken aback.  She could count on one hand the number of boyfriends she’s introduced to her mother that had actually gotten a stamp of approval (less than one hand, in fact).  For her to approve of Garcia Flynn, of all people…

“Why’s that?” Lucy asks.  Carol smiles at her.

“He’s clearly completely and utterly head over heels for you.”

She turns fully to her mother, surprised.  “What?”

“I’ve seen the way he’s been looking at you.”  Carol’s smile widens. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see a ring sometime soon.”

“I doubt it,” Lucy scoffs, and yet again her cheeks are burning, though this time she chooses to blame the wine.  Her mother nods knowingly, hugging her daughter briefly with one arm around her shoulders.

“Happy for you, kiddo,” she says quietly, kissing her gently on the cheek before she drifts away to converse with her other guests.  Lucy looks back over at Flynn and her father, both of them still locked in a friendly debate, and he catches her looking his way and smiles.  She can’t help but return it.

What is happening right now?  Is she finding Garcia Flynn...tolerable?  Pleasant, even?

It must be a full moon.

Several hours later, the party is winding down, many of the guests having already filtered out to their respective cabs.  A few are still gathered around her father’s grand piano singing carols, a yearly tradition that always makes for good entertainment the more the carolers drink.  Lucy hides a yawn just as Flynn strolls over to her, his sleeves now rolled up to the elbows and arms crossed, and her eyes drift briefly over his forearms, her mind wondering for a moment (just a second, a  _ millisecond _ , really) what the rest of him looks like under that shirt.

“Ready to go?” he asks, nudging her softly with his elbow.  She finishes yawning and smiles.

“I’m about to pass out.  I’ll go get our coats.”

“You’re dead on your feet, let me.”

“You don’t know where you’re going, though.”

“It’s not a huge house, I can figure it out.”

Both of them are climbing the stairs as they debate who should really be retrieving their coats from the traditional guest room coat pile.  The end result is that both of them wind up rummaging through coats to track theirs down. Once they finally have them in hand, they’re about to head out the door again when Lucy looks up and notices the mistletoe hung there.  Her mother is nothing if not predictable.

She clears her throat as Flynn is heading out the door, and he stops and turns.  She points above his head and he traces the path of her finger up to the mistletoe dangling just inches above his face.  “Ah.”

“Silly, right?”  Lucy laughs awkwardly.  “My mom always hides it somewhere she knows will have high traffic.  For non-family guests...obviously…” Smooth, Lucy. Really smooth. Nothing screams the holidays like implying incestual mistletoe.

Thankfully, Flynn just laughs and holds a hand out.  “Come on, then.”

“What?”

He leans over to snatch her hand and yanks her toward him.  She stumbles on the carpet in her impractical heels and he deftly catches her in his arms to keep her upright.  She looks up at him, about to thank him for narrowly saving her from an embarrassing fall, when she sees him looking down at her strangely.  Before she can stop herself, her hands are slipping up over his shoulders, arms entwining behind his neck. “I guess...tradition and all…” she breathes as he leans down, drawing closer and closer, and before she knows it, she’s locked lips with him.  Garcia Flynn, bane of her existence, journal club nemesis and all around pain in the ass, kissing her deeply, and  _ dear lord _ does he know exactly what he’s doing.  By the time they part she’s breathless, lips sore and cheeks burning, and she has butterflies in her stomach.

“Was that...okay?” he murmurs as he pulls away, suddenly seeming nervous, and Lucy nods, a dreamy look on her face.  He chances a smile. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“More than okay.”  She plays with his shirt buttons absently and notices that at some point during the night his top two buttons came undone, his collarbone now partly visible.  A vivid picture jumps into her head of gripping his shirt and tearing it open, and she quickly steps away to compose herself. When she looks back at Flynn, he too has a somewhat dreamy look on his face and turns away from her quickly to hide it.

To hell with it.

“Share a cab, then?” she asks pensively, and he quickly looks back at her.  “Maybe we can have that drink we planned months ago. Without half of my relatives leering at us.”

He grins, and she melts a bit at the sight of it.

Looks like she’ll be needing a new nemesis.


End file.
